


Of Twilis and Demonkind

by ghirahimuwu



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: Angst, M/M, NSFW, Oral, artistic XIV baroque topics + heavy nsfw, hoo boy there we go, stuff?? but its also fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghirahimuwu/pseuds/ghirahimuwu
Summary: After a long time of being ignored during the days and sought during the nights, Zant seeks out Ghirahim to try and settle what their relationship means.





	

Ghirahim could only see himself like he was in that moment. Above, the ceiling, but even farther up were shimmering stars. Stars which Zant loved greatly, stars which he loved to watch with him.

A huge peace of mind coiled around him, especially after the state of relax both had achieved. To Zant, it was all more or less like that as well. His heart finally pulsed calmly, luckily for Ghirahim, whose back was pressed against his chest.

There wasn’t the violent hammering of worry. In its stead, there was quiescence.

The two were most peacefully leaning against one another, and although Zant was practically supporting his head on Ghirahim’s, neither argued. In fact, neither made a single sound apart from sporadic hums, all of which came coupled with smiles and entwined fingers’ shuffling.

 

Occasionally would either tip his head and let his lips fall over the other’s skin, or his lips, or his hair. The two long and lanky arms crossed over Ghirahim’s chest injected in him sensations he thought (and almost wished) demons did not have at all. Vulnerability, fondness, attraction, and a pang of pity for himself; those were all spices added to the emotional mix Ghirahim was. Zant had, by confessing his feelings for him, made it quite clear that he shared some of those emotions. That knowledge, much to his enormous dismay, both scared and comforted Ghirahim.

 

Of course they hadn’t been up close the whole day long...

 

There had been quite the descent in their situation, for it to have such an unexpectedly agreeable finale. And, oddly enough, their cuddling had begun with a large argument: insults had flown, yes. Zant had hissed out, demanding to be respected. In response to that, Ghirahim’s brilliant idea was to do the worst thing he could possibly have done: he laughed at his partner’s feelings. Sure enough, they were both difficult people, and neither wanted to give the other the reason, so the argument became almost a fight.

 

“Do you take me seriously? Do you even attempt to?!” Zant bellowed with tears exacerbating his orange eyes, in between throes of rage- which made perfect sense after having been ignored by Ghirahim for days on the whole, and then sought out on their nights for entertainment.

Ghirahim had known full well what he would elicit, yet he still chose to laugh, and that expectedly infuriated Zant even further. He stomped on the floor and punched the wall. Ghirahim wasn’t intimidated: in that state, Zant was only self-destructive. However, precisely because of that, he was uneasy. Plainly, it was worry what he felt -that he might end up breaking his hands, or gravely hurting himself- but he wouldn’t admit to having such feelings for Zant… not ever.

 

So he donned his shield of scornful contempt.

“This attitude is unbecoming of you, and that pout disfigures your face. If you desire to talk, we shall converse when you are more calm.”

 

To Zant, that was the last straw. His hands, rarely ever seen, tensed into disfigured claws. If Ghirahim didn’t know him well enough, he would already have adopted a stance of defense. Zant would never raise a hand against him… just like Ghirahim most likely wouldn’t raise it against him either.

“Calm? You want me to be  _ calm _ ?”

The shrill voice held enormous semblance to the pitch of an ill-played fiddle. So high was Zant’s hurt voice that Ghirahim’s long ear twitched, nose scrunched up and brow furrowed.

 

“Of course I-”

 

Zant interrupted what would most likely be another hurtful comment with one of his manic fits of yelling. 

“Stop patronizing me! You have done that enough already.”

Against his own will, Ghirahim looked at the now sobbing and shaking Zant square in the eye. The Twili he had in front of him was his companion through grievance, his partner, and also his (often) trustworthy co-lieutenant; so it was only fair for him to heed his unwelcome feelings and stop playing around until he was more tranquil…

Or not.

 

“So you want to talk this out?” Ghirahim hadn’t entirely dropped his teasing voice, but those words had been enough for Zant to breathe in a few times, wipe the tears away with his sleeve, and nod. His needle-sharp teeth even retracted away when his anger was (debatably) at bay, and were he able to see that, Ghirahim would have taken that as a cue to go on.   
However, the indicator was something even subtler…

 

The smooth line that was Zant’s mouth had what could only be called a spasmodic reflex. Ghirahim could then draw the conclusion: Zant was ready to proceed and restrain himself. Since he even attempted to school his emotions at the very moment, it would only take Ghirahim scarce comforting, assertive gestures until they could finally sort out their small dispute.

 

Incited by Zant’s twitching, Ghirahim continued, making unwavering eye contact. With enough luck for him, that strategy always seemed to work effectively. Whenever their eyes were locked together, Zant forced himself to relax, although visibly clenching his jaw and balling his hands into fists. He looked helpless.   
That was definitely something he could use to his advantage, a fateful find Ghirahim rejoiced in as he slowly took a step next to Zant.

He, in turn, sat on the floor. Heads tipped and eyes fixed together, they were soon sat side-by-side.

 

Of the few seconds that passed before anyone spoke, it was Ghirahim who owned them the most. He inhaled coercively; as if inviting Zant to relax with him. However effective that usually was, the Twili’s shoulders hadn’t slumped so far and a defensive attitude lingered in his stance. If they wanted to sort things out, they required better strategies. And, luckily for their relationship, Ghirahim was great at working them out within seconds. 

Yet, much to his partner’s surprise, it was Zant who took the initial step:

 

“All this past week, you have done only hurtful things to me.”

Like a lamb who is being led to the slaughter, Zant had a mournful eye. He almost would have looked numb if his beady orbs hadn’t betrayed him. 

Used to seeing only orange brilliance in his companion’s gaze, Ghirahim let out a strangled groan.

 

Had he started all this? Positively enough, it wasn’t his opus. Ghirahim, thus, opened his mouth prematurely.

 

“What do you mean? It was you who became distant in the first place.”

 

And nothing but the stare of billions of judgemental stars rivaled the look on Zant’s face. It almost made Ghirahim stray from his purpose. Oh, if only he could claim his charcoal sneer between his own lips, make him his, enveloping flesh with flesh!

But demon lords had to be restrained. Especially in diplomatic encounters.

 

Ghirahim braced himself for the storm.

 

“Do you have any idea… Ghirahim, you were using me! All of this time, I have merely been trying to fathom what your signals were (a hard task indeed, with the mixed messages you constantly give).” 

His breath hitched like a tortured soul reached by the whip of Demise, and the scent of despair populated the air, irritating Ghirahim’s nostrils. 

Zant charged again. 

 

“I grew distant because I needed time to think. When I was ready to return to you, you brushed me off day after day!”

 

Granted, that much had happened. But Ghirahim was a man of pride, and once Zant gave him the cold shoulder, he bade their relationship to take a wicked turn. Placing blames that far in would not only be unwise, but also insensitive to their own personal quiddities. Both of them had much more in pride than diplomacy. Ghirahim, for example, enjoyed punishing the wayward, whereas Zant chose to take over.

There was, albeit, a point of contact in their essences: their inflated honor and sense of self. Power derives from being accepted, from being the one everyone deems to be right. Thus, being wrong turned into an unbearable experience for the two lieutenants.

 

Strong, brave people all have their weak spots, after all. It is merely a matter of allowing them to agreeably coexist with the glory. 

 

Zant continued only after Ghirahim had acknowledged his deeds with a nod:

“...And as soon as we returned to our quarters for the night, ah, vile tease! I had your breath so close it was impossible to refuse.” Tears had begun to make their dwelling on Zant’s glowing eyes once again. Nevermind them, for it would not be long until they were plucked from their place, cascading down the steep slopes of his cheeks. There would soon be no need for Ghirahim to wipe them.

“So help me, Ghirahim. I laid with you each of those nights in hopes you would resume contact the morning after.”

 

If Ghirahim had any desire to remain strong and undaunted, he should have stopped listening at that sentence. Zant’s next words unfurled a parchment inside his soul: the one that read about emotions.

 

“But alas for me! I waited to see you the moment I woke up, but when my eyes opened in the morning you were gone, along with your belongings. Each cursed morning! You evasive  **coward** … have you any idea of what I feel for you?”

 

“I would assume you abhorre me, now.”

 

Ghirahim spat those words out so lowly, so inconsiderately, that he didn’t even make eye contact with Zant for some seconds. The following silence was graveyard quiescence. Not even a howling poe disturbed the complete tranquility. Although, it was not amiable in the slightest: hanging from the silence, a brooding offense, a dearn mien. 

Bright orange eyes clung to Ghirahim’s face, even if he refused to stare back.

 

“You are dense…”

 

“Pardon?” asked Ghirahim, completely confused. All his bitterness had been forgotten in the insult. Yet Zant continued talking as soon as Ghirahim had closed his mouth.

 

“If I abhorred you, I would not be here now, would I? Day after day I worried the we would never be the same as before. We were such good…”

 

Zant seemed to have forgotten the Hylian word for what their relationship was- but luckily, Ghirahim was quick to spring to his aid. With a twist of his wrist, and leaning out a bit with a simper, he filled in Zant’s blank:

“Friends? Oh, well, of course we are.” At those words, he stopped attentively and drew in a sharp breath. “What does that face mean? You know fairly well I do not appreciate those looks on you. They disfigure you-”

 

But this time, he had to come to a full halt. Zant was shaking, the restrained demeanor he had so gallantly held seconds earlier was coming apart at the seams, bit by bit. First, his eyes became limpid and teary, and his odd hands clutched at the hem of his robes.

Ghirahim, often the first to enjoy others’ pain, found himself unable to deter the bubbling and brewing of the emotions within him. Cursed empathy! Why then, of all times, why with Zant, of all people? Seldom had he felt something for his Master, and not in that fashion. If he had been there for him, it’d always been out of sheer worship and fear, compulsion, a curse. Like a believer would die for their object of adoration, but only out of fear.

Then, why did he have to yield to that gruesome pout, that crippling amber gaze and the tears that clouded it? It seemed like a simple word from Zant would shed his demonic skin and crack it.

 

Slander and lies. Misdirected anger and thoughts.

_ One would think I’d be over this all already. _

“What type of friend is the one that you bed with? This is it: I demand explanations. I shall have explanations- what is our relationship… what does this all signify to you?” 

As he spoke, Zant gestured broadly at them both, his long arms brushing against Ghirahim’s legs. Apparently they’d shifted closer… probably, Ghirahim assumed, it had occurred while he was caught in his own mind.

That wasn’t a question he could easily give an answer to. His entire culture demanded that he stuck to the traditionals: emotionally intimate with nobody, physically intimate with almost everyone- however, what he and Zant had for the longest time was an oddity, possibly for the both of them. Since he knew Twilis did not value pleasure in the same way Demons did, he had to walk shod on lead. 

Zant already thought he was using him. Well, that was following Twili customs. If only there was a sensible way for Ghirahim to explain the entire situation- without making Zant freak out…

 

“We  _ are _ friends- although if I’m to be absolutely frank with you, Zant, never have I had a friendship quite like this.”

 

When had Zant’s teeth reappeared? Ghirahim recalled them long gone, and only noticed the change when he sheathed them back in, as if making an earnest effort in harnessing his emotions for a better result.

Had he captured his good will finally? Ghirahim only had his hopes to work on this time.

 

“I’ll explain to you the way I view our relationship… so you can do the same when I’m done, hmm?” Clasping both his hands together, Ghirahim sorted his phrasing and continued. “To my people, bedding is merely one of the things we engage in. What it means depends on the moment, it could be for… domination,” he winced, and then rushed to clarify. “Which is not the case with us; or it could be to express partnership, or simple to pass time. At first I sought a pastime in you.”

 

Words that sank in like rocks, leaving Zant visibly disturbed. Ghirahim trusted the expression ‘at first’ to calm the Twili’s mind and help it come to terms with the revelation before he continued. Now, their shoulders were touching, and Ghirahim could sense how turbulent Zant had become, as well as his shaky breath on his nose. 

Such experience could have been sensual in a different context. At dissimilar times, or in a parallel story, another timeline, a second-chance. Any of those would do. Desperately shoving those thoughts away from his mid, Ghirahim focused on the task he wanted to clear.

Oddly enough, he didn’t want to be quick so they would be in good terms again. He wanted to build their trust into something he had never before experienced- what exactly? How? The void made itself quite clear before Ghirahim, but there was nothing he could read in the endless pages within such a trivial tome. And Zant’s eyes could easily derail his mind.

So he focused.

 

And his hands began speaking before his lips. Wiggling fingers, shuffling palms, gestures all about… “There’s just this engrossing nature in what we have, Zant… it feels abnormal. Worry not, I mean that in the fairest of ways!” He did. “I’m widely drawn to your intelligence, not just what our bodies are together. Although my expertise in carnal matters climbs towards the cursed skies, I can no longer ignore that I yearn for other types of entwining with you.”

 

There was a metamorphosis in Zant’s expression. The tears persisted, but this time they came coupled with agape lips, tentatively concealed behind his fingers. 

Clearly, since Ghirahim had become an expert at reading Zant’s facial gestures, he was puzzled. 

But he had his confirmation.

 

“I cannot assume you do not mean ill. While you could have acted this way from the start, you chose to avoid talking to me? I… this is impossible to comprehend. All this time I thought we were greater than friends. Shed a light on me.”

 

Their hands were so close. They were so close. Everything was so close, as if the universe had finally reached an orchestral  _ fortissimo _ , and the instruments were all expectant, hanging in their climax, until the glorious descent of death found them all.

Ghirahim dealt the finishing blow to that unpleasant buildup, letting out both a rather charming sigh and his confidentialities.

 

“I could not bear the proximity to a feeling that is a constant threat to my entire culture. Yet… now, I beg  _ you  _ to speak, Zant, and say in which ways you’d most desire this to grow.”

 

Such a response was rather  _ risqué _ . Ghirahim had plenty of time to watch how Zant stared at him with incredulity, then an ironic moue, and finally draped his gigantic hands to Ghirahim’s sleek cheeks. When Zant brought their lips together, he seemed happy, but seconds before, he looked resigned.

 

Resigned to have the barrier of culture. Resigned to the enormous work they both had and would have to do to maintain any relationship.

If that was it, Ghirahim was absolutely in for it as well. 

 

And as soon as the kiss ended, having only lasted a second or two, They could both haul a weight off their chests.

 

-

Which brings this story to its starting point, once again to the couple embraced under a homely roof of partnership. The sweet silence that had lasted for so long was broken by Zant letting out a calm hum as he laced his hands with Ghirahim’s.

 

“My people have… a very special type of bond-” he started, making sure the other was paying attention with his deep eyes. “It’s called mateship.”

 

Well, Ghirahim sure was paying attention; but a single question pestered his focus: where exactly was Zant trying to go with that? Twili culture was interesting, but the situation was altogether so oddly charming that Ghirahim began to wonder if Zant’s words were slights against that intimacy. As if wanting to prove him right, Zant continued.

 

“Two souls who wish to protect each other and feel especially connected are considered mates. Mates respect each other and participate in coupling activities. Physical contact is important for mates, but so is emotional exchange.”

 

Those words sounded almost recriminatory. Was Zant calling him out on his behavior… once they were surrendered to each other, embraced? How absolutely infuriating! For a King, he was rather ill-mannered--

 

“The point of that explanation is… what relationship ties us, now? You said we were friends, but surely, you are aware that friends act less intimate.”

 

Ghirahim nodded. They had already been through that. A quick flash in his eyes showed he had caught up.

Zant was naming how he wished for their relationship to evolve. Of course he’d do it, eventually– Ghirahim had faith! He just never figured it would be so brusquely.

Eyes wide at one time and sultrily narrowed at the other, he sat himself in a better position on Zant’s lap.

 

“Oh, Hell. Is it that you are requesting we become  _ mates _ ?” he teased, lips forming a sly grin. 

Zant nodded, which gave him the cue to continue. 

“Well, I have never had a bond like that.” Since Zant was already looking dismayed, he raised his index. “But- it is also true that you have awakened certain... emotions in me I never deemed natural.”

 

“Give a response that is not labyrinthine, demon.” Said Zant, nervous and sounding equally endearing and terminant.

 

Of course, that was a phrasing Ghirahim could only chuckle at. 

“It would appear you don’t know me enough, dearest King. When exactly am I not labyrinthine? I thought that attracted you but I guess I was wrong.”

Oh, continuing down that path would be pushing his luck too far. Lest he wanted to be on bad terms with Zant again, Ghirahim had to act with more diligence.

“Rejoice, now. I say yes! For some reason the perspective of being your  _ mate _ has me swimming among clouds.”

 

Like drawing the curtains, Zant’s eyes opened with incredible joy. Such an outburst of mirth was almost too much for Ghirahim to process! And beneath his arms, he felt his muscles tensing, at the ready, fain enveloping him in a tight hug.

 

Their small vessel had reached harbor in good time and was now anchored to coast. Diligence was the key, apparently; for he’d seen -almost smelled- the eagerness in Zant.

His hands, clawlike and desperate, scouted around his body, as he was sobbing but not in murky mood.

 

All that effusiveness was duly returned. In next to no time Zant was held tight by firm, stubborn strength. Apparently, he did not mind how haughty Ghirahim had been when he gave him his affirmative response. They were mates now and, frankly, neither of them minded anything else. 

 

And immediately a great weight rose from Ghirahim’s shoulders. Initially he had had his doubts regarding their mateship… now it seemed clear that if their situation was to continue the way it had been before, neither him nor Zant would endure.

 

And as a spell that is easily cast over two people, Ghirahim and Zant locked gazes and held each other that way for quite some time, nigh immobile, without knowing why.

The reason was soon extremely clear, as the Demon started peppering his mate’s cheeks, lips and brow with kisses, leaving white marks all about. It didn’t matter, either, that his perfectly, luscious makeup would be ruined by that, he still chose to do it. Was it simply lust? Did he pine for Zant in that moment, or…   
It definitely felt like something else.

 

Because, had it been yearning, he would already be at Zant’s lips, asking for permission to grind himself to him, or run his hands like some sort of persuasive viper, down to his navel…

But he wasn’t in the slightest. He simply took to enjoying how their breaths wafted together into puffs, symbolic, representations of their recent togetherness.

Had he really been aching for this to happen for so long? They say one doesn’t know what he has until he loses it… in this case, the opposite held truth: Ghirahim wasn’t aware of how bad he wanted to own up to his emotions until he was faced by them.

 

Demons don’t love. Demon’s don’t even  _ like _ others… 

Well, now, that would be hard to put in the past. He had lived thirteen thousand years (a handsome approximate, since he’d lost count somewhere, with all the turmoil) by that mindset. Zant had arrived rather late for the process to be immediate, and it was a raw one. 

 

The saving grace was Ghirahim’s infinite resolve. Dexterous like a gracile dancer, he could most likely adapt to anything. Such was a required trait for the immortal, ruthless right-hand for a Demon King, and it had been engraved with fire into his being, the day he was first forged.

 

And a great deal was owed to Zant’s mortality, which made him beg and ask impatiently for answers, bearing with the knowledge that his life was a countdown. Unlike Ghirahim, Zant did not have forever to make decisions. Those two factors made possible an encounter so fateful that, had it been even slightly different, it probably would not have occurred in the first place.

 

“Shall we go as mates from this moment on, or do you have a preference for some other title?” Zant’s soft, low voice tattered the silence: slow at first, yet gaining weight as it went.

 

It took Ghirahim quite some time to decipher the nature of such inquiry; although when it dawned on him he deemed the hour of his creation a luckier one.

No wonder Zant was such an enviable tactician! He had somehow deciphered something that would bother Ghirahim  _ a posteriori _ , something not even he had come up with to that point.

 

Clearly, his mind worked with grand agility! How, if not with a lithe conscience could he have thought it was indecorous for Ghirahim to be mated (a practise unfamiliar to demonkind), as a _Demon_ _Lord_!

 

“I must compliment your intelligence. Not even I had thought of that.” And, to Zant’s bewildered expression, he made an addendum: “Not like I would have expected any less from you-”

 

But Zant was swift to cut to the point. It was not brusque, however, at all. More like a soft pressure to move onward, he coupled his softly-spoken words with a tightening grip around Ghirahim’s waist.

“I am aware. Now, answer my query. We shall do nothing you are uncomfortable with.”

 

Fortunately for Ghirahim, he was allowed a moment to flirt with the possibilities as he straddled Zant’s affable lap. And some more of his stalling was spent fixing his maroon bangs, making them as straight as possible.

 

“I would truly prefer it if we kept this a little secret, hmm? What do you think? Exciting!” 

 

Since Zant showed no signs of agreement or lack thereof, he was subject to his warm but judgemental stare. To alleviate the anxiety of the situation, he immediately picked up his speech from where he had halted.

“What I mean is, do you have any idea of the rambunctious situation I would face were my minions to discover it?”

 

The worse of Ghirahim’s hopes were that Zant would keep absolute silence, and simply scrutinize him with those immolating eyes. If such calamity were to befall, it would leave him no choice but to return to an absolutely retracted position, and undo the base of the bridge he had just begun to build towards Zant.

Albeit terrible, what happened was not that.

 

A low and hoarse noise broke from Zant’s throat. It had Ghirahim wondering what could possibly have caused that reaction; it had him revisiting his earlier words frantically until--

 

“You mean  _ we  _ would face– right? I ask of you, Ghirahim… your days of thinking in yourself alone must come to end.”

 

What made it so difficult to share a silver of his reckonings with Zant? Once he had made a resolution (a fruitless pout and a grimace later), and under the assessment of Zant’s relentless raised brows, Ghirahim gave his response.

 

“I do not see why that couldn’t be arranged. From now, I will always do my best in considering you. There shan’t be a moment in which you are not in my mind…”

It seemed like he would have to admit to caring for Zant now… and in the most verbal way he found viable.

 

Knowing perfectly well the effect it had in Zant, he settled his broad eyes on his in an amorous fashion, his hands still fiddling among his soft rouge tresses. 

“And to be rather fair, I’m finding it impossible to hide my joy now. I cannot seem to tear you from my thoughts, either. Will you humor me, my dear  _ mate _ ?”

 

And, much to his utter rejoice, Zant found his words to be completely earnest. 

“Immediately.”

 

There must have been some grand inquietude in his musings, for he suddenly released a long breath, in equal parts damp and hot, onto Ghirahim’s lips. That sigh marked the beginning of a slow, smoldering kiss; all the more exciting since Zant had been the kindler. Of course, Ghirahim had absolutely no qualms in voicing that; by parting their lips and tongues only barely enough and repeating one word against their conjoined saliva; “ _ Dear– _ ”, enough times for Zant to deem it sufficient.

 

As it seemed for the way he let himself fall back against their shared bed, bringing Ghirahim down with him, the Twili had indeed had enough of his gab.

_ Less talking, more sharing _ .

Which meant, of course, more kissing… something Ghirahim wasn’t going to argue about- at all!

 

Swiftly did he let their lips merge, dancing together perfectly and even more readily now that Zant was pinned to the bed by his body. Often, it was Ghirahim who controlled their kisses, and if they would take a deeper route, but this time their flow was even, on both sides parallel. When either wished to scale the fire, the other took the hint rapidly. No words needed. It was enough with the way Zant breathed, hurried and husky, and the way Ghirahim ran his tongue along his lips in the interim. Soon, he was at Zant’s lips again, nipping them with renewed bree, claiming them with beautiful bruises the color of a decaying corpse.

**And he did not stay behind.** Dexterous fingers curled around Ghirahim’s midriff, progressed further down and behind until they were positively pressed against each other, Zant’s hands clutching at the supple fake flesh of his waist.

A grunt rose in response. Neither of them knew whose mouth had issued it. For some reason, in the brief expanse of silence their lips created while sealed together, Ghirahim took one of Zant’s hands in his. Not only did Zant accept the lent hand, but he also entwined his fingers to his mate’s. 

 

Now, Zant thought the grunt had most likely been his own, judging by his flushed visage and disastrous mien; yet he dared not break such a wholesome kiss. Albeit sweet, it was turning particularly more carnal by the second, what with the Demon’s weight on his and his mercilessly rocking hips. 

And it was important that it did. A paramount part of mateship was that it was first sealed by spending a night together. Zant figured that, since Ghirahim did not oft sleep (or stay in their quarters for that matter), he would gladly bed him that night.

 

Either way, he was never above stating his intentions and asking for consent when it came to Ghirahim.

 

So Zant huffed against his plump lips and pulled back. “Shall we lie together?”

 

“You took your time in asking,” was the teasing response. 

To the sound of snapping fingers, they soon found themselves on their bed, two weights pushing down the feather mattress with amorous intent.

The ceiling served as some sort of shield. Had they been out in the open, they would have the stars and the playful first hours of sunlight to assess such encounter, to rebuke their actions when wrongly executed.

Under other circumstances, Zant would have hated that idea. Yet that night was different. Their caresses were a sealed pact, an oath to keep, almost in promising fashion; with sight on fairer horizons for the two men.

And for that very reason, Zant would allow himself to not feel ashamed of his acts afterwards. Kings should not engage in such activities when not for procreation or mated. Then it lost its unbecoming characteristic. Then, it stopped being shameful.

 

And now, they were mated! Much did he rejoice upon falling into the realisation. What is more, Ghirahim seemed to be the correct person for him, albeit quite snarky and mean at times.

 

Zant did not realize in that moment, but he had revealed how he felt for Ghirahim with no hurdles. Now he would be able to understand why the barrier of stoicism fell before him and his seductions then like it never had done before. Why his fingers held Ghirahim’s flesh in place like it was going to fall anon; as he spread his legs and allowed Ghirahim to grind against him through their garments.

 

“You have become quite cheeky, my King.” The Demon observed, his breath oscillating between Zant’s lips and his own, planting in him the desire to lean forward and capture it. 

What more enrapturing than being called with such high terms while his pelvis touched Ghirahim’s?

 

“And I could be even more.” 

With a low grunt, Zant flipped their positions so that he was the one who rose.

Like a shield of flesh, he cast a shadow onto Ghirahim, and his face was only lit by the reflected sheen of the candles. How the fire danced against his face, creating shapes and patterns so fierce and fitting made Zant release a soft gasp he had been holding. The being who was beneath him was aggravating at times, but he possessed such charm! 

“Oh, quit ogling!” 

 

Only after that phrase did Zant notice his sight had dropped all the way to Ghirahim’s midriff for a moment. After a heated kiss, he took to removing the band of his garments, so as to let his breeches fall. 

Ghirahim, however, was never one with patience. Instead of using his hands to take off his form-fitting suit, he banished his garb with a simple snap of his fingers. His gloves, however, remained until he pulled them off with his teeth under Zant’s perplexed -and increasingly steamy- gaze. Both now naked, their bodies touched, and it felt correct. It felt as if they had been created to share moments like those, as if their flesh had spawned from the same star. 

  
Then, Zant lowered his hips and lips, kissing Ghirahim’s neck with a type of tender possessiveness seldom seen in him. Partly claiming his ivory skin with his mouth, yet at the same time setting a blessing that could release him from all the violence and all the sins he had committed on the battlefield. That much power his kisses released, and what he got back was a series of woefully lustful moans.

Fool! How could he taint that act of emotion with his inflated façade? So as to hush him, Zant propelled forward and took his lips, instead. But Ghirahim took that as a sign and began rocking his hips against Zant’s, causing the tip of his length to slide against Zant’s already damp slit. 

Zant quivered in ecstasy.

 

That quelled any and all reprimands Zant could have given him about the way he was addressing their newly-formed bond. Despite how much effort they put into it, Ghirahim would never be a Twili. He already respected his traditions, why force him into them? If they were comfortable that way, nothing else would matter.

And with that new realisation, Zant laced the fingers of his right hand with Ghirahim’s left while using the other to hold Ghirahim in his place. Both their hips were slowly gravitating to the same point, creating the sweetest friction. In due time, Zant’s prehensile appendages worked their way out of the sheath, more than ready to guide Ghirahim’s member, or coil around it. Goddess-knows-what they would do this time! With his mind in such a state, it was hard to know anything besides immense pleasure, let alone control what they did.

 

So he took his mind off from that for the moment. His opening, reduced by his swollen members, was far too tight for Ghirahim to penetrate it, but the mere touches on the walls of his sheath, the lips of his slit and the lengths of his cocks had the potential to drive him into rapture. Soon he noticed the Demon’s free hand had draped to his behind, clasping his flesh and guiding his hips even further down. One of his cocks furled around Ghirahim’s, while the other aimlessly thrashed around. It rubbed against Ghirahim’s thigh, making him pout.

 

“Tsk.”

 Apparently, Ghirahim had parted from the kiss for a split second, regarded the situation in the south with a quick glance, and freed his hand from Zant’s. The Twili blinked eagerly as he saw the delicate yet strong hand move to their nethers and stroke the loose penis subtly. 

 

Such an oxymoron of characteristics! Ghirahim’s smile was beautiful, and his face held an ancient luminosity in the dark. And still he managed to be a fierce lover. In his eyes shone a whirlpool of emotion condensed into steel.

Zant gasped, and mewled, and moaned.

 

Their conjoined voices turned the nightly atmosphere into an orgiastic symphony. Luckily, the walls were thick, the door was sealed and their troops, sleeping… and Zant was not ashamed.

Why be? His body arched subtly onto Ghirahim’s curves, following his line, fitting perfectly together like puzzle pieces. Swollen in the fervor, both his dicks were near their climax, ready to spill their seed. And Ghirahim didn’t stay far behind. He pumped and rubbed his fingers against Zant’s loose dick, while the other worked at his so greedily.

 

They moved together, and the scent in the air was theirs to treasure. Nothing more intimate than that, nothing more theirs to own and cherish. For even in the apparent lack of vocality, their minds tuned to the same sintony and weaved a much deeper conversation than any actual words ever could.

 

While Ghirahim touched one of his dicks with a quicker pace, the other wrapped even tighter around Ghirahim’s throbbing length. Being naturally lubricated, Zant knew it was him who caused the slickness noises they were making. Somehow, that irritated Ghirahim’s lust, as he let his plump lips brush against Zant’s nose, mouth and chin before licking his neck. He could feel Zant’s heart beating as he marked his skin. And how his breath moved and heaved his chest and throat, becoming faster along with his mewling and beefing as they both reached their point.

At the same time, Ghirahim’s movements turned hectic and merciless. It seemed like he was trying to draw Zant’s seed.

 

Little did he know Zant would hold to release together. It was a custom he would respect now that they were mates. But he could feel it in his cock how Ghirahim grew eager by the moment. He pulsed and throbbed and his hips ere long would stop being precise and begin thrusting without sense. 

 

That was Ghirahim’s favorite part. Sex stopped being an art and became primal expression. It was like a dance, or a ritual. Only with Zant could he lose himself and  _ be _ himself. Everyone else had him calculating every touch, every move.

Zant allowed him to trust his instincts; because he, in turn, had always followed his.

 

A warning: Ghirahim breathed out a moan so thick and earthily it could fill with lust even the sin of a rock. Zant took that moment to press their hips together even more, now resting on their flanks so that neither was pinning the other.

In that position, Zant's dick began dragging Ghirahim's into the slit, pulling with new bree. Almost without noticing, Zant had begun rolling his hips in the opposite sense, so that Ghirahim could enter him with more ease. As the sword spirit’s cock dealt pressure against the two engorged, prehensile ones of Zant’s; he felt like he could no more. And now his mind swum in a tank full of colors. The heat pits at the sides of his mouth were suffocated, asphyxiated with the smoldering nature of their actions. Above it all, his sweat-coated body stuck to Ghirahim’s, begging for a release, yet asking him to never let go.

But neither of them wished to ever let go.

 

Zant had one hand on Ghirahim’s hind, ere caressing, then fondling his flesh; while the other pressed to his chest and drew a long, seductive groan. It had always been such a sensitive spot in Ghirahim! 

“There--” he squirmed and arched his back to receive the full extent of Zant’s palm against his core, his chest, his heart.

Zant thought of how Ghirahim must have felt. By putting his hand on his chest, he was essentially caressing his heart, his inmost expression of self.

 

Well, hadn’t Ghirahim done the same to him, with each of his words that day?

 

Simultaneously, they drew in sharp breaths as their moans were unleashed with more and more passion. Zant pressed his hand ever more firmly against Ghirahim’s chest, as he nipped and licked at his neck.

 

And a second later, Ghirahim released; bringing Zant with him into the pit of rapture. So vicious was his grip that he even squeezed Zant one last time, feeling as every drop of seed drained from his cock, spilling on his hand, his thighs, the sheets. 

Simultaneously, Ghirahim’s climax entered into scene, and his fluids all seeped into the deepest parts of Zant’s sheath. Such fullness had Zant among the clouds, but he only hoped Ghirahim felt the same. With his slit dripping and oozing a liquid, neon and white mess, he hadn’t the heart or stomach to ask for Ghirahim to remove himself; but he wasn’t going to either way. As he would the last few times, Ghirahim lifted his face and met his lips with Zant’s. Only this time it was earnest, warm.

And as he would before, he lapped away Zant’s saliva and tears -for they did taint his eyes during the most intense parts of sex-.

 

He had always liked to watch the scene while recovering from the orgasm. It was just so enticing how Zant’s luminescent cum created shapes of teal magnificence everywhere it fell! This particular time, the show was wonderful and caused an urge to grow in Ghirahim.

“Shall I clean you?” He asked, nuzzling the side of his mate’s neck.

 

In the heat of the moment, Zant could only think of how much he needed to hear something Ghirahim had never said. He needed to hear he wasn’t just mating with him to please him. What’s more, he needed to hear it was real. All of it.

But he also had his desire. There was also the undeniable fist of this pleasure, and he wanted to experience more of it immediately. Besides, Ghirahim had never offered to clean him up… not like that. It was his voice. The tone was not lewd like often; but tender. It was not a growl or a grunt. It was a whisper, and the murmur of a thousand small sparks settling on the bottom of Zant’s stomach.

 

“Please do.”

Because he knew he would only hear about Ghirahim’s feelings when he was ready to disclose them. And he also knew that when the moment arrived it would be glorious.

As glorious as the way his body shifted away from Zant’s embrace while he spread his legs. Oh, how Ghirahim’s chest plummeted onto the soft mattress and almost sank inside. It was surreal.

Immediately, Zant noticed the dearth of Ghirahim’s pressure inside his slit. It was the first thing he checked. But as if to answer to his need, the demon ran a long and elegant finger along the flushed slit and collected the entirety of its fluids, to later subtly bring them to his mouth. Or sultrily, perhaps.

Zant, either way, could not complain. His legs shivered, his glowing eyes met Ghirahim’s wink- and then he dove his face down into the space between his legs, lapping at sweaty thighs, cleaning his mate with such vocation it seemed like he’d never finish.

 

After a long huff, Zant started holding Ghirahim’s head in place, cued by his arms hooking around him. 

He better go deep- Zant was already greatly wet once again, but in anticipation.

 

Of course, Ghirahim would have loved to tease him about that, but his tongue was busy teasing Zant’s flush lips with dexterous inflammation. He seared, like fire, but it was pleasure… and maybe something else, something colossal.

After a few moments of simply teasing, Ghirahim pushed past a ring of muscle. He was equally, erratically precise. An oxymoron of carnal properties who tasted Zant from the inside until his cocks, lazy from the recent orgasm, came to meet his tongue, and wrestled it with re-found energy. All the while, Zant beefed out nearly incomprehensible words in both Twili and Hylian, woven together by puffs of breath with each twist of Ghirahim’s.

But finally, he came again. No such thing as overstimulation, this time Ghirahim had to lick his own mouth clean, and part of his chin as well. Even so, he was still glowing when he lifted his head and chanced his characteristic conceited smile.

 

“I suppose after this your dreams will be plagued by my effigy.”

 

Zant dared: “As they have been since our first shared kiss. And if you had a dreamland, I would reign in it as well.”

 

And Ghirahim’s laugh returned its shine and might to the nightly sky.

**Author's Note:**

> / Thank you for reading! I really appreciate each and every hit, kudo and whatnot. It encourages me to keep writing, as always   
> special thanks to thebakkat and yucee for bearing with me /


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